


Brain Stew

by cornpony



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, awkward sniper, confident scout, rating may change later, who knows!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-04-18 05:19:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14205933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornpony/pseuds/cornpony
Summary: For days now, Sniper has been struggling to fall asleep, only managing a few minutes’ rest at a time.  When his insomnia starts affecting his professional life, he decides to seek out help—which leads him to find a solution to his problem in the most unexpected places.





	1. Chapter 1

I can’t sleep.

Well.That’s not exactly true.I can sleep, but only in five-minute bursts and at very inconvenient times.Like when I’m trying to shave my face, or pour a cup of coffee, or while I’m in the middle of work.And since I’m a government-experiment mercenary who works with a team of other government-experiment mercenaries, and we go out to a literal battlefield every day to face off against a rival team of government-experiment mercenaries, falling asleep on the job isn’t always the best thing to do.

 

****

 

At work a few days ago, I was holed up in an old attic, trying to pick off any wayward BLUs who happened to wander within range of my scope.Half the shots I took were misses.After a few bleary-eyed attempts at providing support for my team, I had to stop for a moment, propping my rifle against the wall, to take a piss.I always keep a few empty mason jars on hand for this exact purpose; the smell of urine travels astonishingly far, and any good professional knows you don’t want your enemies to smell you before they can see you. 

I remember unscrewing the lid to one of the mason jars and seeing little shadowy blobs dancing in the corners of my eyes.I must’ve managed to undo my zipper and piss into the jar because next thing I knew, the jar rolled out of my hand, urine sloshing across the rotted floorboards.

The jar rolled to a stop at the feet of the BLU spy, clinking against the tip of one of his faux-leather shoes.The RED Spy—my teammate, Spy with a capital S—would be appalled at this man’s tacky footwear, not to mention his shabby suit and the garish masquerade-mask thing he wore to hide his face.I suspect the Administrator put this man on the BLU team specifically to torment our Spy.

Before my eyes travelled up to meet the BLU spy’s face, they flicked downward, toward my lap.By some miracle, I’d managed to stuff myself back into my trousers before blacking out and letting loose of the piss jar.That saved me _some_ embarrassment, at least.

The BLU spy kicked the jar away from him.He was aiming for me, but he missed by several inches.He pretended not to notice.

“What are you _doing_?” he sneered, crossing his arms.Instead of killing me, which he could’ve easily done a hundred times by now, he was toying with me.Smarmy bastard.“You’re disgusting, you know that?”

My head felt huge and heavy, like it was far too large for my neck to support.I looked up at the BLU spy, my vision clouding over again.

May as well say it.I’m dead anyway.

I grinned lazily at him.“I know you are, but what am I?”

It’s what Scout always says when the BLU spy hurls insults at him on the battlefield.Usually, I’m not close enough to hear Scout’s voice with my own ears, but I can read his lips through my scope. _I know you are, but what am I?_

It’s not a very good comeback, but that’s probably why it makes the BLU spy so furious when he hears it—he thinks he deserves better than something so corny.

The BLU spy pulled a dull, scratched pistol from his waistband and it was all over.I felt the familiar tug of the respawn system claiming what was left of me, my body dissolving into nothing but atoms scattering along in the desert wind.Gives you a hell of a headache, respawn does, but I’d be dead otherwise.Obviously.Not to mention, it does make you feel like you’ve had a 20-minute power nap.At least there’s that.

In the dark void where my consciousness floated, awaiting respawn to piece me back together into something solid, I decided I’d talk to Medic about my lack of sleep.I’d try to catch him on his lunch break back at the spawn point.This is the third time this week I’ve dozed off on the job, and at this rate, I’ll be sacked before the month’s over.

I needed something—anything—to help me sleep.

 

****

 

It’s 6:59 pm, a minute before Medic told me to meet him in the med bay, but he’s not here.No surprise there, he’s a busy man.I take a seat in the little waiting room outside his office, which is little more than two rows of plastic chairs bolted to the wall, and lean my head back against the wall.It’s an ugly industrial wall, cinder blocks painted a vomity pinkish-beige, but it’s cool and solid against the back of my head.My eyes droop closed.

My moment of peace doesn’t last long.The door to the hallway swings open and I’m surprised to see Scout coming through it instead of Medic.He looks so different from the way I’m used to seeing him, it’s almost like I’m invading his privacy in some way. 

At work, he dresses like he’s going out for a run, because that’s mainly what Scout does—he runs.His staple pieces of clothing seem to be a tee shirt, grip tape for his hands, baseball trousers, athletic shoes, and…knee-high socks.Mostly his socks are plain white, but every now and then he’ll mix it up with stripes or argyle or houndstooth.It’s a unique look.It suits him.

Now, though, he’s wearing a pair of cotton slippers, which are barely visible beneath his baggy pajama bottoms.A faded Red Sox jersey hangs awkwardly on his shoulders. like he might’ve put it on in a hurry, or as though he’s been tossing and turning in bed.His hands, normally mummied up in protective tape, are bare. 

Most unnerving of all is Scout’s face.He’s the team hype man, always sporting a cocky grin and a quirked brow.But as he shuffles to a stop in front of me, I find myself staring up into sunken, half-lidded eyes ringed with dark circles.I’m not sure which of us looks worse.

“Doc ain’t in his office, I guess?” he asks me wearily, carding his fingers through his rumpled hair.

“Not yet,” I tell him.“He told me to meet him here at seven, though.Shouldn’t be long now.”

Scout slumps into the plastic seat directly across from mine and silence spreads out between us, growing thick and cloying in the tiny waiting room.It’s _very_ odd for Scout to go more than three seconds without prattling on about something-or-other, so if he’s gone this long without uttering a single word, he must be deathly ill.He certainly looks it.

“You, er…okay?” I ask him, my gritty voice cutting through the quiet.

He shucks up a shoulder in a lazy half-shrug.“Can’t sleep,” he says.“I mean.It’s been like…like two days, almost, it’s like…like my brain just won’t…”He shrugs again.

“Won’t turn off,” I finish for him.

“Yeah, exactly,” he says, nodding.“I know we’re not supposed to bother Doc unless we’re dying or whatever, but I seriously don’t think I can drag my ass to work tomorrow unless I get some sleep.Maybe he’s got a…sleeping pill, or…sum’n.”

A sleeping pill of some sort is what I’m hoping for, too.I’ve tried all the over-the-counter stuff and it doesn’t do anything except make my head feel like it’s stuffed full of cotton.Maybe Medic can give me something stronger.Maybe he’s got an injection to knock me out—that would be nice. 

“I know the feeling,” I say.I didn’t mean to say that, actually, I had something else on my tongue, but I can’t remember what it was.I guess it doesn’t matter.

“You can’t sleep either, Snipes?” Scout asks. 

At the sound of the nickname, coupled with the look of genuine concern in Scout’s eyes, I feel an odd twinge in my gut.This twinge is followed by a wave of self-loathing.I’m like a child hearing some slight bit of endearment from his schoolyard crush, even though I know I shouldn’t even bother with thinking of Scout in…in _that_ way. 

Not that I _do_ think of Scout in a romantic sort of way, of course not.I’d be insane to think—I’m not even sure if I—

—In the physical sense, I’ve got to admit I’m drawn to him.He’s good-looking, no denying that.His looks aside, he’s always so upbeat, so energetic.He’s got a quick temper on him and he can be a bit annoying at times, but he’s really quite kind.

Maybe if I weren’t so odd, or anxious, or if I were better-looking, I might allow myself to be attracted to this man.But since I’m odd, anxious, and ugly, I reckon it’s best to keep on denying my sexuality and living in solitude.

Mum ’n’ Dad would roll over in their graves if they knew I fancied men, anyhow.

“No,” I say.“Can’t sleep.Been up for days.I can doze off for a few minutes, but that’s all.”

“I think I dozed off for a few minutes earlier,” Scout says thoughtfully.“Or maybe I just passed out, I dunno.”

I nod in agreement.Who knows if I’m really dozing, or if I’m slipping into subconsciousness every now and again? 

“Maybe Doc’s got something he can give us to make us sleep,” I say.

“I tried all the drugstore shit already,” Scout says, rubbing fitfully at his face. 

“So have I.”

Scout lolls his head over to rest on his shoulder.“Surely Doc’s got sum’n stronger he can give me. _Us_.”His eyes close for one second, two seconds, three…almost half a minute.He cracks them open again, inhaling deeply from his nose.“Fell asleep,” he says, sounding a little surprised.“How long was I out for?”

“Not even a whole minute, mate,” I tell him sadly.

He lets out a growl of frustration, punctuated by an aggravated whimper.“I just wanna go to bed.”

“Me too,” I mutter. 

I check my watch.It’s ten minutes past seven.“Doc told me to meet him here at seven,” I say.Why I’m mentioning that again, I don’t know. 

“What time’s it now?” Scout asks.

I look at my watch again, even though I just checked it.“Abou’ seven-ten.”

“He should be here by now,” Scout says absently. 

“Reckon he’s busy.” 

Scout shifts in his seat, trying to get comfortable in the hard plastic chair.After a few attempts at wriggling into a better position, he gives up entirely, spilling himself into the floor.He presses his cheek against the tile. 

“Dish feelsh preddy good,” he says.He pats at the floor with his palm, as though he wants me to join him.“Try it, Schnipes.”

For the faintest of moments, I’m tempted to do it.The cold tile would probably feel nice against my skin, not to mention I’d be lying down, which means I might stand a chance at falling asleep.Then I think about Medic walking into the waiting room, seeing Scout and me sprawled across the floor like two idiots, and I decide I should stay where I am.

“Think I’d better stay up here,” I say.“If I fall asleep, I want it to be in a place where I can stay that way.Preferably in a bed.Or a…couch, or something.”

“Suit yourschelf,” Scout says.He spreads his limbs wide, like he’s about to make a snow angel.“More room for me down here, den.”With his limbs splayed out like that against the pale-colored tile, he looks like a beached starfish.

A minute passes.

From the floor:“What time’s it now?”

“Seven-eleven.”

He shifts onto his side, his expression somewhere between weary and annoyed.He squints at me.“Seriously, it’s only been one minute?Feels like I been down here for at _least_ five.”

“Time goes by a lot slower when you’re tired,” I say, tucking my chin down against my chest. 

My eyes close against my will and I know I’m about to slip into one of those short little naps, the ones that leave me groggy and irritable when I wake up from them minutes later, but at least they give my body a few seconds to recharge.Down by my feet, I hear Scout take a deep, grunting inhale that might actually be a snore.Good on him, maybe he’s managed to doze off.

Then I enjoy a sensation that’s a bit like wading through lukewarm water.Dark liquid in an endless void.Quiet.Peaceful.

And then it’s all over.

Below me, Scout stares blankly at the tip of my boot.If he were fully conscious I think he would’ve met my gaze by now, or at least rattled off a few words, but he’s quiet and motionless.A shadow flickers in the corner of my eye and I turn my head toward it, thinking it might be Medic coming silently through the hallway door.Nothing there.I’m seeing things again, I guess.

Scout snorts again, blinking his eyes rapidly.He sits up.“I fell asleep for a little bit, there.I think.”

Can’t’ve been a very good sleep if his eyes were still open, but I won’t mention that.“Good on you,” I say instead.

“What time’s it now?”

I flick my eyes down to my watch.When I see the time, it crosses my mind to lie—it’d save him some heartbreak.Guess it’d be best to tell him the truth, though.

“Seven-fourteen,” I mutter.

A strange noise whistles from his throat as he looks at me in pure disbelief.“Three minutes,” he says, his voice almost a sob.

“Sorry,” I say stupidly.

His body crumples and the side of his face presses against my knee, his feverish warmth seeping through my trouser-leg.It’s been so long since I’ve made bodily contact with another human.A small part of me wants to shove him off me, but mostly I don’t mind it.It’s…kind of nice?

“Doc, hurry up,” Scout whines.

My mind drifts off to thoughts of my bed, my sweet, beautiful bed waiting for me in my camper.I can’t bear to sit in this stupid plastic chair much longer.“I’m giving him five more minutes,” I say, “then I’m going back to me camper.”

With a jolt, Scout sits upright, yanking his head away from my leg.I silently mourn the loss of contact.

“I just thought of sum’n,” Scout says, scrambling to his feet.

It only feels right to stand up along with him, so I do.“What?”

He makes a sweeping gesture toward the door to Medic’s office.“We could just go in there and look for some sleeping pills ourselves.”

“I don’t think Doc would want us going through his…medical…whatnots,” I say.

“He’ll never know we were in there,” Scout says, grinning mischievously.“We’ll be super-careful to put shit back where it was.”

“He’ll be back here any minute now.”

“We’ll only be in there for _two_ seconds.We’ll just go in, look through the cabinets a little bit—“

As he’s laying out his ingenious plan, he puts his hand on the doorknob to Medic’s office.He jiggles it.Nothing.Jiggles it again, his brow furrowed.Still nothing.

“Shit,” he whispers.

“Locked?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

He sinks down into a plastic waiting room chair.I do the same.

While he waits, Scout bounces his leg in anticipation.I can’t stop looking at my watch, checking the time.If Medic isn’t here by 7:20, I’m going back to my camper and that’s that.If I fall asleep, I fall asleep—if I don’t, I don’t.

“Spy could get that door open,” Scout says under his breath.

“It was hard enough asking Doc for help,” I tell him.“I’m not quite desperate enough to ask Spy.”

Scout nods slowly, thoughtfully.“Me neither,” he sighs.

Time passes slowly.Which is also the name of a Bob Dylan song, if I’m remembering right.Yes.It is. _Time passes slowly up here in the mountains, we sit beside bridges and walk beside fountains…_

“—hear me?”

I jerk my head up.“Hm?”

“I said I’m gonna get outta here,” Scout says as he stands up.He rakes both hands through his dusty-blonde hair.Dishwater blonde, as Mum would call it.But _dishwater_ implies something dull, something ugly, and Scout is neither of—

“Gonna drink beer and watch TV till I pass out,” he continues.“You can come with me if ya want.”

Is this an invitation?To do something recreational with one of my coworkers? 

“Are you sure?” I say stupidly.As soon as I say that, I’m filled with instant regret.Of all the things I could’ve said...

He grabs me by my wrists—two bits of human contact in one night, lucky me—and tugs me upward till I clamber into a standing position.Then he claps me on the shoulder, which makes it three times.

“Yeah man, course I’m sure,” he says, flashing me a toothy, albeit weary, grin.“I’m tired of sitting in here, let’s go.”

 

****

 

When we leave Medic’s waiting area, I expect us to turn to the left and head toward the rec room.Scout said something about TV and beer, and both of those things can be found in there.But instead of making a left, Scout veers off to the right, toward the main hallway.

“Where are we going?” I ask, but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I figure it out for myself.From here, the main hallway only leads to employees’ quarters. 

“My room,” Scout says, falling into step beside me.He looks up at me, brows furrowed.“That’s not gonna be a problem, is it?I know you’re kinda…”He waves his hand about, trying to pluck the right word from the air.“…Shy.”

_Shy_.That’s one way to put it, I suppose. 

Come to think of it, why did I agree to this at all? _Did_ I agree to it?I didn’t think this through, I know that.It’s not too late to turn around and go back to my camper, nothing’s stopping me from doing just that.Nothing, except I wouldn’t want to offend Scout after he’s offered to spend time with me.

Ugh.I don’t even like the sound of that in my own head, _spend time with me_.It’s so juvenile, so…pathetic.I was quick to agree to Scout’s lofty proposal because, for one, I’m running on nearly no sleep and can’t think, and for another, I’m desperate.For a friend, I mean. 

The thought makes me outwardly wince.Am I really that sad of a man?No friends, jumping at the slightest chance to have one?

I don’t know anymore.

We come to a stop, and I assume we’ve made it to his bedroom door, but there’s nothing on either side of us except lonely brick wall.Scout turns to me, placing a warm, slightly sweaty hand on my arm.

“I got a big couch in my room,” Scout says enticingly.“I’ll sit on one end, you sit on the other end.You won’t have to sit right next to me or nothin’.”

It’s not the seating arrangements I’m worried about.The whole point of this thing, the whole point of going to Scout’s room with the promise of television and alcohol, is to lull us to sleep, yes?But what if I really _do_ fall asleep on his couch?Is Scout expecting me to spend the entire night in there, or should I excuse myself after an hour or so, or…or what?

“It’s awright if you fall asleep,” Scout says.It’s like he read my mind.“That’s kinda what we’re going for, ain’t it?Or you could just stick around awhile, drink, watch TV.Whatever you wanna do.”

We continue walking for a bit until we reach the door to Scout’s living quarters.My mind races, trying to think up an excuse not to go in, some reason to leave immediately and never return.Again I think about going back to my camper without a word, but I can’t bear to do that to Scout, not after he’s been so kind to me tonight. 

This isn’t a big deal.This isn’t a big deal.This isn’t.A big deal.

I can do this.

Stop overreacting.

Scout takes a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocks his door.He strides through the doorway and begins to navigate the room in the dark.From the dim light the hallway provides, I can make out a light switch on the wall, but Scout didn’t even give it a passing glance.Meanwhile, I’m standing awkwardly in the doorway, waiting on him to invite me in like I’m some sort of vampire.

“I’m just gonna turn on the lamp,” Scout calls over his shoulder, “hang on.”

A second later, he clicks on the bedside lamp and the room blooms into view.It’s more spacious than I expected.My eyes are drawn to the right side of the room, where there’s a refrigerator, a squat little stove, and a tiny sink tucked away behind a half-wall.In front of me is the bed, the sofa, the television set.And off to the left, amid a wall covered in posters and unframed canvases, is a door leading into what I’m assuming is the bathroom.Not a bad setup he’s got here.

“It’s kinda messy in here,” Scout says, lobbing a stray soda can into a nearby garbage bin. 

I take a cautious step through the doorway and have a better look around.As far as cleanliness goes, it’s really not too bad—better than I’d expect from Scout, honestly.There are a few bits of discarded clothing scattered about, some empty cans here and there, and what looks like balled-up pieces of paper near the bed.The mess makes the room look lived-in, like a place where you could get comfortable.Maybe this won’t be so awkward after all.

“I don’t mind it,” I say, watching as Scout kicks off his slippers, sending them sailing through a doorway near the bed.I’m only just now noticing that narrow little doorway—how did I miss it when I first came in?

I’m so tired.And the wearier I get, the more unobservant I become, which is why I’m desperate for even the tiniest sliver of rest.I can’t very well shoot people from half a mile off if I can’t even see a doorway right in front of me.

That’s probably a closet.Yeah.Closet.

“It’s not really messy in here, anyway,” I say stupidly, after an awkward beat of silence.

“It ain’t that bad, I guess,” Scout says.He kicks the balled-up pieces of paper under his bed.“Just sit anywhere, Snipes, make yaself comfortable.”

I make my way over to the couch and sit, sinking down into the plush cushions.Out of habit, my hand drifts down the side of the couch to pull the foot rest lever, and I’m pleasantly surprised to find that this couch has got one.When I pull it, the foot rest springs out, and it’s long enough to accommodate my spindly legs.It’s… _comfortable_.

Oh God.What if I _fall asleep_ in here?

That’s the point, though, isn’t it?To fall asleep?Scout and I are both grappling with insomnia, and he wouldn’t have invited me in here if he didn’t want me staying—

—Wait.

Is this—did I read this situation wrong entirely?Does he want—is he _flirting_?Surely not, not with _me_ , though I’m not sure about that.My heart picks up speed in my chest.

Something cold presses against the back of my hand and I yank it away on instinct, but it’s only Scout offering me a beer.Offering an apologetic grin, I take the drink from his outstretched hand.The label’s hard to see in the dim light, but I make out the shape of a jack-o-lantern on the bottle.

“It’s a craft beer,” Scout explains.“It’s kinda got a pumpkin flavor to it.”

“That sounds…”

Disgusting, I want to say.

“…Interesting,” I say.

He laughs, a warm buttery noise that makes my face feel hot.“It’s pretty good, actually.”

I’ll give it a try, why not.I pop off the lid with a flick of my calloused thumb.“Thanks.”

Scout wedges his own beer between two of the couch cushions and turns his back to me, facing the television.It’s got a huge screen, catching the lamplight in its beveled glass.On the shelves next to the TV is an assortment of electronic gadgets.I’ve got no idea what any of them are, except for the record player. 

He slides open a drawer below the television and pulls out a shiny round disc.He turns around to face me again, holding the disc between his thumb and forefinger.“Ever see one of these?” he asks me.

I squint at it.“I don’t think so.What is it?”

“It’s a _movie_ ,” he says with a face-splitting smile.“I got this little box that’s connected to the TV, right, and ya just put _this_ thing in there, and it plays the movie right on the TV screen.”

A device that can play a full-length film right on your television screen, whenever you want it to?That piques my interest.I like movies, but I don’t watch many of them because I’m not too fond of going to the theater.Too crowded. 

“Did Engineer make that movie player, er, box…thing?” I ask.

“Uh huh,” he says.“I got a bunch of these things.The digital records, I mean.”

“Digital records?”

“That’s what Hardhat calls ‘em.Says they’re some kind of pre-war technology or sum’n.”

Now I’m even more interested.I’d like to ask Scout if the films themselves are pre-war or if it’s just the more recent movies copied onto the old technology, but I don’t want to keep bombarding him with questions.

“Well,” I say instead, “if he can make himself a robotic hand and heat-seeking sentries and all that, I guess putting a whole movie on a little disc wouldn’t be too hard for him.”

“He’s crazy smart,” Scout says.He turns back to the TV and turns it on, then presses a button on the front of the black box-thing sitting beside it.A small tray trundles out, just large enough for the digital record to rest on.Scout drops the record into the tray and presses the button again, sending the disc into the box.

Instantly, the television screen turns from snowy static to a flash of white.A woman dressed in a frilly pink leotard glides to the center of the screen.

“And now, she emerges onto the ice to compete in the ladies’ free skate,” a soothing male voice murmurs.“Miss Baiul prepares to skate for Olympic gold…”

Scout dives onto the couch and pulls out the foot rest on his side.“I know what you’re thinking,” he says, before I have time to think of anything.“You’re thinking ‘why the hell are we watching this?’But believe it or not—“

He pauses as the skater makes her way to the middle of the rink and stops, holding her hands out on either side of her like she’s about to walk along a tightrope.A hush falls over the crowd.All is silent and still.Then, soft music begins to play and she takes off.

“—This makes me sleepy,” Scout continues.“Sometimes, anyway, if I’m lucky.I dunno why.Maybe cause it’s kinda boring.”

The skater picks up speed, bends her knees low, and jumps.She spins once, twice, three times in the air and lands cleanly on one foot.

“What a beautiful opening jump from Baiul,” the announcer says, “an excellent triple lutz.”

The skater’s fluid movements, combined with the mild music and the announcer’s occasional murmurings, somehow puts me at ease.The sound of skates scraping against ice is strangely calming. 

“I can see how this might make you sleepy,” I say.Seems I’m awfully chatty when I’m sleep-deprived.

In response, Scout lets out a hearty yawn.He loops a bit of his shirt around the neck of his beer and, after several attempts, manages to wrestle the cap off the top.He tosses the cap blindly over his shoulder, where it clatters to the floor several feet away from the trash can.

“Well,” he says, taking a swig of his beer, “I don’t like watching anything you gotta pay attention to, cause I don’t want to try and keep up with what’s going on.I like mindless stuff like this.”

Onscreen, she makes another leap through the air, earning a bout of courteous applause from the audience.I take a drink of my beer, and as the sickly-sweet, pumpkiny stuff sloshes over my tongue, I have to fight myself to keep from spitting it straight back into the bottle.This stuff’s horrid.

“You don’t like it?” Scout says, gesturing to the beer bottle hanging loose in my hand.I must’ve made an involuntary look of disgust when I took a drink of it.

“It’s all right,” I lie.I’ve certainly had worse, I can force it down without complaint.

He flashes his teeth at me.“I got other beers in the fridge, y’know.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he doesn’t give me the chance to say what was on my tongue—no, I’m fine, it’s not a big deal, don’t bother.He gets up from the couch and goes back to the fridge, pulling out a six-pack of clinking bottles.

“Corona?” he says, holding out the cardboard box to me.   
I’m relieved to find it’s something I’ve tried before.I take one.“This is one of me favorites, actually,” I say, cracking the top off with my thumb.

Scout sits the six-pack—well, five-pack now—between the two of us on the center couch cushion, then slumps back into his seat.“I like flavored beer better, but it’s hard to find any good ones around here,” he tells me.

“This pumpkin stuff’s the first flavored beer I’ve ever had, I think.”

“Not a fan?” Scout says, huffing out a small laugh.He holds out his hand.“Here, if ya don’t like it, I’ll finish it.”As I gladly hand over the pumpkin beer, he gestures toward the box of Coronas.“You can be workin’ on those, how’s that?”

I try to smile at him.“Sure.”

 

****

 

While I nurse my third beer, Scout’s already on his fourth.I’m finally feeling a decent buzz from these drinks, which is a welcome change from being sleepy and irritable.At least now I’m only sleepy. 

On the TV, a willowy man wearing a strange black costume twirls and slides across the ice.The music accompanying this skater is far more upbeat and decidedly less calming than some of the other routines we’ve seen, though I can’t say I mind the change.It’s still relaxing somehow.

“We can watch something else if you want,” Scout offers, his voice thick and groggy.“Half of what I got is animated, though.Like cartoons and stuff.”

“Cartoons are fine,” I say.Much like the figure-skating we’re watching right now, the plotline’s usually easy to follow when it comes to cartoons.Just the thing for someone half-awake.After a moment’s pause, I add, “I like Cinderella.”

“For real?” Scout says, his broad grin a bit loose around the edges from the three-and-a-half beers under his belt.“Hey, listen to this.Last year on Christmas break, I went back home to Boston like I always do.We all get together at my Ma’s house—well, we _used_ to have to cram everybody in Ma’s tiny little apartment, but when I got my first paycheck from Fortress, I bought her a brand-new townhouse.”His chest puffs out with pride.“Okay, not _brand_ -new, I think it’s at least a hundred years old.Whatever.Anyway, we all meet up at Ma’s house, and we…”

For whatever reason, he decides to tell me all about his Christmas holidays with his family.The original point of our conversation has been lost.He and his family spend an entire week together, where they cook and eat, play board games, decorate a freshly-cut fir tree, exchange gifts.I can’t even begin to imagine what that would be like.In a way, I think that many people crammed into one house for a whole week would drive me mad.Then again, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a large family.Maybe it would be nice.

“And there’s this movie theater near Ma’s house,” Scout goes on, “that plays older movies sometimes.Last year while we were having Christmas, Cinderella was on.”

Ah, there it is.Now I remember the original point of this conversation.I take another swig of my beer.

Then he pauses, like he expects me to say something. 

“Hm,” I say.

Ah, come on.Really?I can do better than that.

Before I can rack my brain and think of a better response, Scout starts talking again.

“Uh-huh,” he says, not seeming to care about my abysmal conversation skills.“So I had to take my nieces to see it _five_ days in a row.”He holds up five fingers, twiddling them for emphasis. 

“You have nieces?” I ask, suddenly curious.It’s not hard for me to imagine Scout as an uncle.He’s the fun uncle, I’m sure.

“Thirteen of ‘em,” he says.“Kinda funny ‘cause my Ma had eight boys, but now that her kids are having kids, they’re all girls.”

A sudden thought comes to the forefront of my mind.I want to ask him something.But should I?

I drain the rest of my beer and slide the empty bottle back into the six-pack’s cardboard holster.“Have _you_ got any children?” I ask, spitting out the words before I change my mind.

Scout flinches like I’ve just reached over and slapped him.“No, nonono, there ain’t even a chance I—I mean, if I even _thought_ I had a kid somewhere, I wouldn’t be _here_ , I’d be—not that I don’t _want_ kids, it’s—well I’m really selfish, y’know, and ya gotta put so much time into your kids so they don’t—“

He catches my eye and he falters.He takes in a deep breath, as though he’s just now remembered he’s supposed to breathe.“Sorry,” he says, offering me a sheepish smile.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” I say.

He looks relieved to hear that.“Do you?”

“What, have kids?”

Scout finishes off his beer and slips the empty bottle beside mine.“Yeah.”

A tiny laugh slips through my nostrils.“No, no kids.”

He reaches for another beer, but all that’s left are empty bottles.He drops his hand back into his lap.“Guess that’s a good thing,” he says, “cause this job takes up most of our time and you wouldn’t be able to really take care of ‘em or help ‘em with their homework or go to their…”

His eyes slide away from mine, going back to the TV screen.The skater’s routine has apparently ended as he stands with his arms raised in triumph, his chest heaving, the crowd cheering.

“…Dance recitals, or whatever,” Scout finishes.He picks up the six-pack full of empty bottles and takes it to the kitchenette, where he drops it unceremoniously into a trash bin.Glass smashes against the bottom of the metal container, making a dreadful shattering sound.

Scout stares down at it with half-lidded eyes.“Huh.That was a lot louder than I thought it was gonna be.”

I watch him as he strides through his kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets seemingly at random.He peers into the fridge, but he doesn’t take anything from its innards.

He shuts the refrigerator door with a sigh.“Think I’m done for tonight,” he says.“If I drink anymore, I’ll have a headache tomorrow.”

_Tomorrow._ I glance over at the clock on Scout’s bedside table—10:47 PM.This could be my chance to skirt out of here without making a big deal of it.I kick the foot rest back into the couch and pull myself to my feet.

“Ya leavin’?” Scout asks, tottering out of the kitchen to stand by the bedroom door, his hand resting atop the door handle.An emotion I can’t quite place flickers across his face, making my stomach drop.

“Yeah,” I say, scratching nervously at the back of my neck.“’S getting late, I better be off.Thanks for the, er…”I make a vague gesture at the TV, at the kitchenette, at the couch.

A smile spreads across his face.“No problem.”

He opens up the door and I’m greeted with the overwhelming stench of burnt popcorn.Scout crinkles his nose.

“Smells like Pyro’s been making Jiffy Pop again,” he says.He’s probably right—the hallway looks slightly cloudy like it’s full of dissipating smoke. 

I take a step forward just as Scout begins to speak again, stopping me in my tracks.“I’d say you could, uh… _stay_ , but I guess that’d be…”And now it’s his turn to scratch at the back of his neck.“…Kinda weird.”

“Yeah,” I admit.I’m trying to make myself go through the doorway, but something’s keeping me from moving, like I should say something, or…something.

He reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder, then thinks better of it; he yanks his hand away, looking first a bit shocked, then apologetic.“See ya tomorrow, Snipes,” he says, his voice much lower than before.Coming from Scout, such a calm tone of voice sounds almost ominous.

I nod.“Mm.G’night.”

I step out into the hall and Scout clicks the door shut behind me.Down the hall, smoke wafts from the kitchen as Heavy lumbers toward it, grasping what seems to be a fire extinguisher in one of his large hands.I can hear Medic’s muffled voice squawking angrily from somewhere, maybe from the medbay.It crosses my mind to pop into his office and see if he’s in there, but I don’t really feel like it.A few light drinks and some mind-numbing television might be just what I need to fall asleep.

Guess I’ll have to head back to my camper and find out.


	2. Chapter 2

I’m standing in knee-deep water.There’s a shout, then a bang.Another bang.Another.Searing pain spreads through my chest like wildfire.

There’s an arm clamping around my shoulders now, trying to keep me on my feet, but I’m so slippery and grimy that the arm can’t hold me.In the distance, an alarm blares as water rushes through the cavern.The air is growing thin and I’m only vaguely aware that I am, in fact, dying.

Actually dying this time, no respawn to save me.So this is what it’s like.Somehow I thought it’d be more glamorous than this.

God, that alarm’s so irritating.I wish it’d let me die in peace.

It sounds familiar, though.Where have I heard this exact same noise before?

 

****

 

Back in the conscious realm, my eyes shoot open.The alarm clock on my bedside shelf reads 6:00 AM.I swat at it until it stops its screeching, then sit up in bed and click on the lamp.I haven’t got the room for a real lamp up here in my bunk, so I’ve settled for one of those adjustable things that’s got a big clamp instead of a proper base.It’s hanging from the uppermost shelf above my bed.

_Click_.I sit there for a minute or two, hardly daring to believe what happened: _I fell asleep_.I slept for _three_ glorious hours—fitful, nightmare-riddled hours, but I’ll take it.

I wonder if Scout got any sleep?Next time I run into him, I’ll ask.

I kick the blanket off my legs and slide down from the bunk, my feet hitting the shag carpet with a dull _thud_.Yawning, I head toward the back of the camper and step into the bathroom.

While I’m getting ready for work, I turn last night’s events over and over in my mind.I can hardly remember how I ended up in Scout’s bedroom, and I’m even more confused as to how we ended up drinking beer and watching figure-skating.When I think about it, the whole thing sounds so ridiculous and stupid.

I pause mid-shave to stare at myself in the mirror, shaving cream still smeared across half my face.Why do I feel like I shouldn’t have gone to Scout’s room at all?It’s as though I’ve made some sort of grave error, some kind of irredeemable mistake.

Many moons ago when I was still in secondary school, the school counsellor told me I had some deep-rooted self-hatred because I was so different from all my peers. _No shit_ , I wanted to scream at her.Now that I’m here at Fortress, I’m around people who actually _don’t_ shove me into garbage bins and chase me up trees and kick dents into the side of my truck.I’ve finally got acquaintances—and in Scout’s case, maybe even a friend.Why can’t I get myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, other people might actually enjoy my company?

It’s too early in the morning for these needling thoughts.I finish shaving the rest of my face.

 

****

 

I catch Medic out of the corner of my eye while I’m clocking in for work.He and Heavy are sitting across from each other at the break room table, backs hunched, poring over the crossword puzzle in the newspaper—one of their daily rituals.Doc probably wouldn’t mind if I went over and talked to him about missing last night’s appointment, but I don’t want to interrupt him.He looks calm, for once.

“Let’s see,” Medic hums, trailing his pencil eraser down the newspaper page.“Three across is ‘another word for very happy,’ eight letters.”He stares up at Heavy expectantly, quirking a bushy eyebrow.“Do you know what it could be?”

Heavy is an intelligent man, but his English is choppy.The daily crossword is probably helping to broaden his vocabulary. 

“Here are the words Heavy knows for happy,” Heavy booms.He holds up a single meaty finger.“ _Happy_.Is all.”

I step away from the punch clock and go over to my locker.It’s the last Friday of the month, which means we’ll be moving to another battleground this coming Monday.I’ll need to gather all the junk out of my locker this afternoon and take it back to my camper. 

There’s nothing I need from my locker, not until a minute before work starts.There never is.And yet I dig around in it anyway, making a fair amount of noise clicking my rifle’s deadbolt back and forth, unzipping all the pockets in my rucksack and zipping then back again, opening and closing my lunchbox.I do this stupid thing every morning.I don’t want to sit in silence with whoever I’m trapped in the break room with.

After I’ve made a satisfying bit of noise, I take a paperback book from my locker and sit down at the far end of the break room table.I don’t get much reading done in here—too noisy.Mainly I use the book as a prop, a ‘please-don’t-bother-me-I’m-reading’ sort of thing.It works, for the most part.

I turn to the bookmarked page and pretend to read, giving an occasional glance to Heavy and Medic.Medic’s face, I notice, is devoid of its usual _schadenfreude_.He looks genuinely enthused at Heavy’s blunt response to the crossword.

Enthused.That’s an eight-letter word for very happy.

Medic counts out letters on the tips of his fingers, muttering under his breath.“Overjoyed—no, that’s nine letters, that can’t be it…delighted—no, that has nine letters too, hmm…”

Heavy nods, his brow furrowed in concentration.“Carefree,” he says.

Again, Medic counts out the letters on his fingers, then beams at Heavy.“Excellent, bärchen, that’s a definite possibility.I’ll write that down.” 

As Medic fills in the crossword, the break room door swings open and Scout walks in.His hair’s sticking up in odd places and his shirt has a smudge of something greenish on it, but the rest of him looks much better than he did last night.His eyes, while still ringed with dark circles, are bright and alert, and he doesn’t look so pale and miserable anymore.I pretend like I didn’t see him come in, keeping my nose buried in my book.

“Leetle Scout is early today,” Heavy says.He cuts his eyes over at Medic and they raise their eyebrows at each other.They communicate wordlessly like that all the time, swapping looks and glances that have some kind of meaning only they know about.Part of me is distantly jealous of a close relationship like theirs.Another part of me is nauseated by it.

“I got some stuff to do before work,” Scout says offhandedly. 

“Oh?” Medic says. 

Scout doesn’t elaborate.He starts to walk toward me, but Medic speaks up again.

“Don’t forget to—“

“—Clock in,” Scout finishes for him, pivoting on his heel.He goes over to the punch clock, sticks his time card in.The machine beeps and whirs like a cash register, then spits his card back out. 

He tosses the card into the filing box mounted to the wall and heads straight for me.There’s no use playing like I don’t see him anymore, so I close my book just as he takes a seat beside me.

“Hey,” he says, resting a forearm on the table.There’s a bit of toothpaste on the corner of his mouth.

“Morning,” I say.Something prompts me to actually turn this offhanded exchange into a real conversation.“Sleep any?”

“Yeah,” he says, his face breaking into a grin.“I slept for three.Whole. _Hours_.”

The corners of my mouth twitch into something that feels like a half-smile.“So did I,” I say.“Three hours.”I let out a breath, almost a laugh.“That’s funny.”

Next thing I know, Scout’s throwing his arms around me, clapping me on the back.“That’s great, man!” he says, the top of his head bumping roughly against my chin.I’ve had casual embraces thrust upon me before, but they’ve been very much unwanted.This one’s not so bad.

“It most certainly is _not_ great!” squawks Medic from the end of the table. 

Scout dislodges himself from me and turns his attention on Medic.“It’s great for me and Snipes,” he says indignantly. 

“You need between seven and nine hours of sleep every night,” Medic says.His back stiffens and he squares his shoulders, like he’s preparing to give us a long lecture about proper sleeping habits.As if it’d do either of us any good.

Heavy chuckles, his voice a rumbling baritone.“Doktor should take his own advice,” he says, giving Medic a pointed look.

“My sleeping habits can be…unpredictable, on occasion,” Medic says, “but I always sleep longer than three hours.”He fixes his eyes on me again.“That reminds me—you had an appointment with me yesterday evening, did you not, Herr Sniper?”

Scout opens his mouth as though he wants to answer that question on my behalf, but he closes it almost as quickly.In a way, I wish he would’ve said something to Medic, since I’ve got no clue what to tell the man other than the truth.

“Er, yeah,” I say, “I did.At seven o’ clock.But—“

“Ach,” Medic interjects, slapping a hand to the side of his face.“That’s right, I remember now.Yesterday evening was even busier for me than usual, you see.On top of everything I normally do, I had to tend to the devastation Pyro and Soldier caused in the kitchen.”He gives a slight shake of his head.“They put popcorn kernels in their mouths and tried to pop them with a lighter.And when that didn’t work so well, they tried to speed up the process with vegetable oil.”

Scout snorts.“Sounds like sum’n I would do.”

“I was surprised you weren’t a part of it,” Medic agrees.“Anyway, Sniper, you have my apologies.Shall we reschedule for tonight?”

There’s definitely a part of me that wants to tell Medic to piss off.Scout’s idea of TV and booze got me a solid three hours, and there’s no telling what Doc will have me try—he loves it when he’s got a human test subject to try out his pills and potions.I suppose I _could_ go to Doc’s office and find out what he wants to do to me, and if I don’t like the sound of it I could get up and walk out.Unless he bolts me down to the table, or something.Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?

“Alright,” I tell him, resigning myself to whatever fate awaits me in his office.“Seven o’ clock?”

“Seven o’ clock,” he says.His face hardens into something much more serious as he turns his attention to Scout.“And how long have _you_ been struggling with sleeping, hm?”

“I dunno,” Scout says, trying to speak through a yawn.“Couple weeks, maybe.”

“Weeks!” Medic exclaims.“Why haven’t you told me about this?”

“Cause I don’t want you pokin’ me with needles and stuff!”

“I’m not going to poke you with a needle,” Medic says, looking like he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes.“I’ll give you some medicine to help you sleep.I can even make it in a liquid form if you have trouble swallowing pills.”

“I can swallow pills,” Scout grumbles.He mutters something under his breath, the words _hate_ and _needles_ clearly audible.Surprisingly enough, needles don’t bother me much.Once you’ve been sliced and diced and bludgeoned and gutshot and blown up and pushed off a cliffside, needles and syringes seem tame.

“Good,” Medic says.“Why don’t you stop by at seven o’ clock, too, Scout?It will only take a moment.No sense in making two separate appointments, ja?”

Scout looks over at me, like he’s checking to see if that’s alright with me.Something about that look sends a vague sort of queasiness stirring about in my stomach.

“Fine by me,” I say, silently glad I don’t have to go to Doc’s office alone.He’s a nice enough bloke, but being alone in a room with him is a bit unnerving.

“Excellent,” Medic says.“We’ll get you both sorted out tonight.”After this ominous remark, Medic picks up his pencil and starts working his crossword again. 

_‘Sorted out?’_ Scout mouths to me, frowning.I respond with an exaggerated shrug.I don’t know what _sorted out_ means and I don’t care to find out any time soon.I only hope that any _sorting out_ will help me sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is super short compared to the first one. I was going to make this chapter a lot longer, but I decided to post what I have and continue onwards in chapter 3. Sorry about the long wait!! 
> 
> Also I expect the rating for this fic to change, I just don't know when haha


	3. Chapter 3

Just like last evening, I make it to Doc’s waiting room five minutes before seven.Not long after I’ve slumped into a chair, Scout comes in, wearing an old shirt and baggy sweatpants. I’ve still got on the clothes I wore to work today, though I swapped my boots for a more comfortable pair of slide sandals.They look ridiculous, especially with my sock-clad toes poking out the front.I’m far past worrying about my outward appearance at this point.

Instead of taking a seat, Scout goes straight to the medbay door and raps on it with his knuckles. 

“Hey Doc,” he calls, his voice amplified tenfold in this tiny room.“It’s seven’a clock, ya in there?”

Medic shouts something in response, but I don’t make out what he said.Scout whirls around, holding his hands aloft in an ‘I don’t know’ gesture.“He’s in there, I guess,” Scout tells me.

“What did he say?”

Scout collapses into the seat beside mine.“Y’know what?” he says, laughing quietly to himself.“I don’t even remember.Fuck, I’m tired.”

I bob my head in agreement, too exhausted to offer any kind of real response.I wonder why Scout chose to sit so close to me.He’s respecting my personal space, but only barely.He probably fell into the first seat he laid eyes on—or at least, that’s what I’m telling myself.

I’m not sure how long we’ve been sitting there when Medic cracks the medbay door open and pops his head out.“I had to clear a spot for you to sit down,” he says.“I’m ready for you now.”He swings the door open wide.“Come in, come in.”

When I enter the room, I swivel my head back and forth, taking it all in.In all the years I’ve worked for Fortress, Medic’s office has been in varying stages of disarray, but it’s never been this bad. 

Towers of cardboard boxes are stacked nearly to the ceiling.Medic’s desk is piled high with papers and folders and empty coffee cups.A laundry cart is crammed behind the desk, overflowing with crumpled linens.Heavy stands with his back to us, organizing a row of bottles along a shelf and humming under his breath.

The only clean spot is a single steel examination table, which Medic beckons us to sit down on.Scout and I clamber on top of it awkwardly, the two of us barely fitting on it.

“Jesus, Doc,” Scout breathes, “looks like a tornado came through here.”

“I have been very busy this week,” Medic says wearily.“I’ve just got a new set of medical supplies to put away—“

“Heavy is putting them away,” Heavy says over his shoulder.

As though a switch has just been flipped inside his brain, Medic’s face softens.“Thank you, bärchen,” he says.The switch flips again and he’s back to his normal, slightly unsettling self.“Even with Heavy’s help, I still have a ridiculous amount of paperwork to finish up, forms to fill out, not to mention all of the _medical emergencies_ that happen on a daily basis around here.” 

He shrugs.“Anyway,” he says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “back to you two.You’re both having trouble sleeping, is that right?”

“Yeah,” Scout says, “I’m lucky if I get one, two hours’ sleep every night.Sometimes I get _zero_ hours.”

I nod.“Mm.Same for me.”

“That’s certainly not enough sleep, as I’m sure you both know,” Medic says.He walks over to a cabinet and opens it up, revealing dozens, if not hundreds, of medicine bottles.He runs a finger along the bottles, squinting his eyes at them, and finally plucks two large bottles from the shelf.

“Here you are,” he says, handing a bottle to Scout and me.It’s surprisingly heavy.“Take one tablet at bedtime.”He looks directly at Scout when he says, “Do _not_ take more than one within a twenty-four hour period.”

“What are these?” Scout asks, shaking the bottle.It sounds like a tin full of marbles.

I look down at my own pill bottle.On it, a handwritten label reads _EXPERIMENTAL SEDATION CAPSULES x30_ in blocky script.Of course it does, of course it’s some kind of weird experimental thing Doc’s cooked up.Nothing’s ever simple around here.

“I thought that was obvious,” Medic says.“They’re pills.You swallow them.”

Scout’s irritation electrifies the air around us.“That ain’t what I meant,” he snaps.“I mean why do they weigh a hundred pounds and why do they say—“He looks down at the bottle, furrowing his brow at it.“—I can’t read this handwriting on here, but I can tell it says sum’n bad.”

“Experimental sedation capsules ex-thirty,” I mutter to him.It’s so absurd it almost makes me smile.

Instead of getting angry like I expect him to, he hangs his head and sighs deeply.“So if I take one’a these and I die—“

“Then the respawn system would treat it as if I poisoned you,” Medic explains.“It would not be considered a self-inflicted death.If you die, you’ll go through respawn just fine and you’ll be good as new.”He beams at us, as though he’s just told us some wonderful news. 

Scout looks down at the bottle, then at me.“Whaddya think?We gonna risk it and take these pills, or not?”

At first I don’t know why he’s asking me this, like it’s some sort of decision we have to agree upon.Then it occurs to me that, in a roundabout sort of way, it is.If both of us _didn’t_ want to take these strange little pills, we could try Scout’s way of getting to sleep again.Three hours isn’t good, but it might be better than the fate that awaits us if we swallow whatever’s inside these bottles.

Then I think about actually getting a good night’s sleep, a full eight hours of subconscious bliss, being fully-rested for the first time in months.And if these pills do kill me, it would be Doc’s fault.Respawn wouldn’t treat it as a self-inflicted death, which—as I’ve always been told—would prevent it from bringing us back to life. 

But there’s always the _what if_ factor looming in the distance.What if these pills kill me and respawn _does_ consider it a suicide.I don’t know how that bloody thing works—I don’t think anyone does, not with any amount of certainty.Truckie’s grandfather is the one who first came up with the technology, back in eighteen hundred-something.It’s gone through a lot of advancement since its early days.What if I find a loophole by taking these pills?I could die, and stay permanently dead.

Or it might work like a dream.It might let me sleep, it might force my eyes to close, force my body into sleep.Not to mention I’ve got a funny feeling Scout won’t take these pills if I don’t.If they really work, I wouldn’t want Scout to suffer for no reason.

I look at the pill bottle again.“Guess I’ll try ‘em.”

Scout doesn’t look relieved at these words.A muscle in his jaw twitches.“For real, Doc, if these things kill us—“

“They’re not going to kill you,” Medic interjects.“They’ll help you sleep.Now.” 

He strides over to the medbay door, opening it.“I’m sorry to rush things, but I’ve really got a lot to do tonight.”He makes a sweeping gesture with his arms, ushering us out.“Take one capsule and go straight to bed, both of you.”

“So you’re not gonna…y’know, take our blood pressure or nothin’?” Scout asks him.

Medic waves a dismissive hand.“Ach, you’ll all be getting wellness exams next month, anyway.You’ll be fine for now.”

Scout hops off the table, the bottle of pills jangling in his hand.“Sounds good to me.”

 

****

 

The capsule is red, glossy, and round.You could almost mistake it for a piece of hard candy, if it wasn’t so oddly heavy.It rests in my palm, waiting for me to pop it in my mouth and swallow it down.

We decide to put the TV on something mindless and animated, just in case the pills do something funny with our heads.Onscreen, a middle-aged Texan man has just found a long-haired troll doll in his young son’s bedroom.

The man grabs the bare-arsed doll off its shelf, brandishing it out for his young son to see.The boy says nothing, only shrugs.

“ _Nudity_ ,” the older man says with obvious distaste.He tosses the doll into a cardboard box.

Scout howls with laughter and jabs a thumb at the television screen.“I love this guy.He kinda reminds me of Hardhat.”

Scout’s still holding his pill, too.Neither of us can bring ourselves to swallow it, and we both keep stalling by making offhanded comments at the TV.We’ve each got a can of pop nearby—mine in the hand not holding the pill, Scout’s jammed in between two couch cushions—but we haven’t drank anything, either.

“They’ve definitely got the same accent,” I say.

Scout laughs again, this time with less enthusiasm.“Yeah, he…they…”

He trails off, rolling the large red pill between his thumb and forefinger.It shines dully in the flickering light of the TV. 

“We gotta swallow these,” he says, grimacing.

“I know.”

“Let’s just get it over with, huh?On the count’a three, we swallow it.”

He counts to one, two, three, and we toss the pills into our mouths.It gives off a slight burning sensation, like something cinnamon-flavored, but it tastes like petrol.I wash it down with about half a can of soda.

Scout screws his face up again and raises a hand to his throat.“Feels like it’s stuck in there,” he grunts.

My eyes widening in concern, I gesture to his soda can.“Take another drink.”

He drinks.When he takes the can away from his lips, he looks relieved. 

“Better?” I ask him.

He nods.“Yeah.”

The next few moments are spent in silence, the tension in the room steadily growing—not between Scout and I, but from waiting to see what will happen to our bodies.

Scout told me countless times that it was fine if I slept in his room tonight.I told him I wasn’t too keen on the idea, that if any of our coworkers saw me slinking out his bedroom door in the same clothes I wore the day before, we’d never hear the end of it.Scout said he didn’t care about any of that, but I care on his behalf.I don’t live inside the base with these people, I can retreat to my camper any time I like.Scout’s stuck in here.The last thing he needs is for the rumor mill to churn something up about him. 

My eyes slide closed and my head begins to droop forward.It’s only been five minutes since I took the pill and I’m already feeling its effects.I raise my head back up, eyes still shut.I could manage to open them, if I really wanted to, but I’m much more compelled to keep them closed.

“This stuff’s working fast,” Scout says.His voice sounds far away, like he’s all the way across the room.

“Where are you?” I ask, suddenly very concerned about Scout’s current location.My own voice sounds distant now. 

“I’m right here, man,” he says.He gives me a pat on the arm, indicating he’s still sitting right beside me.Good lord. 

“This is hittin’ you harder than it’s hittin’ me, I can tell,” Scout says.“Howsabout you lay down on the couch right here, huh?”

My mouth moves, my throat hums.That leads me to believe I said some words back to him.And judging by the buzzing in my ears, he says something in reply. 

More humming and buzzing.When I feel myself rising, hefting my body off of the couch, I crack my eyes open.The room’s spinning.

Apparently, I stumble.Scout catches me round the middle and tries to steer me back to the couch, but his arms fail him.We collapse in a heap of limbs on the floor, which would be beyond embarrassing if there were anyone else here to witness this.

“Goddammit,” Scout groans, his head lolling against my stomach.“This is really—I don’t think I—“

His words are slurred, worse than it was the night before when we were trying to drink ourselves to sleep.He lifts up an arm and lets it fall back down, inadvertently smacking me in the face.

“Hmmndid I hit you?”

“Yeah,” I croak.“’S alright.”

“I’m just gonna sleep here tonight, okay, Snipes?”

It’s his bedroom floor, I reckon he can sleep anywhere he wants.I try to say this to him, but the words won’t come out.I hear snoring—only to realize the sound is coming from my own throat, not Scout’s.

_Finally_ , I think as I let go of my last shred of consciousness, falling deeper into the depths of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I updated this fic in a timely manner!! Wow!!!  
> Had a couple people asking about Along Came Scout, wondering whether I'm going to continue it. The truth is that I'd like to, but so much needs changing/editing/etc that I haven't gotten around to it yet. Hopefully I'll continue it but I can't be sure WHEN I'll continue it.
> 
> But I think I've learned from my mistakes when writing Along Came Scout and I won't be guilty of the same things on Brain Stew. I'm really bad about writing episodic plots that go nowhere and people get bored with them. But this story actually has a plot I can pinpoint other than the romantic aspect of it, so I really think I can follow it through to the end. I hope so anyways.
> 
> VERY tempting to write the "oh no we have to share a bed ;) ;) ;)" trope in this chapter, but I resisted haha


	4. Chapter 4

With the abruptness of being awoken from a nightmare, my eyes shoot open.I’m staring up at a ceiling bathed in yellow lamplight.I try to bring my hand up to rub at my eyes, but it remains frozen at my side.I try to move it again.It won’t budge.

Panicking, I try to move my arms, my legs, anything.I’m frozen.All I can do is move my eyes.Strange shadows swim at the edges of my vision, smoky, wispy things.I dart my eyes around the room, trying to find something, anything that can help me.I even grow so desperate that I try to call out for Scout, but my mouth can’t open.

And then, without warning, all control of my body returns to me.I jolt to a sitting position and clutch at my chest, forcing myself to breathe. _Breathe_.

“Fuck,” I say between breaths, digging my fingernails into the skin on my chest.A fresh jolt of panic courses through me because I can’t feel any pain there, but then I remember I can never feel anything there:the scarring’s too thick.My shoulders slump in relief.I’m fine, I can move my body, I’m awake.

In my just-awoken grogginess, I pick my brain for a bit, trying to conjure the last thing I can remember before I fell asleep.I remember taking the shiny red pill, remember it taking effect far quicker than Scout or I expected it to.We collapsed in a heap on the floor, I can remember that pretty clearly.Somewhere in there, I can vividly recall getting a hair stuck to the roof of my mouth and fishing it out with my thumb, and when I held it up to the light to analyze it, it was a short strand of dishwater blonde.

Things around me are a bit different from the way I remember them.For one, a throw blanket’s been tossed over my legs, and for another, I take a glance behind me and find a pillow dressed in a faded red pillowcase.Looks like Scout’s tried to make me a bit more comfortable down here in the floor.I find it so strange when people actually take my well-being into consideration, even though Scout does that fairly often these days.

“Mornin’.”

The word is spoken very close to my ear, causing my entire body to jolt in surprise.Several things happen at once.I swivel toward the sound, dart my hand out—going for the neck, as one does—but when I realize it’s only Scout, not the BLU Spy coming to torment me, I try to change course.Instead of strangling him, I flatten out my palm and give him an awkward shove-pat against his shoulder. 

“Sorry,” I say.My throat feels like it’s packed full of sand. 

Thankfully, Scout laughs it off.“You’re fine.Shoulda known better, not to sneak up on you,” he says, grinning sleepily at me. 

His smile fades into something more somber, more concerned.“When you woke up, were you all…frozen?Like ya couldn’t move your arms or legs or nothin?”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding slowly.“Sleep paralysis.”I’ve never experienced it before, sleep paralysis, but there’s no doubt in my mind that that’s what just happened to me. 

“That what it’s called?” Scout asks.

“I think so.” 

Scout makes a noise of disgust.“That was scary as fuck, man, I dunno if I’m gonna take those pills again.”

“You couldn’t move either?” I ask.Immediately I wish I hadn’t said that—of course Scout had sleep paralysis when he woke up this morning, why else would he say what he just said?Stupid, _stupid_ —

“Only my eyeballs,” Scout says, pointing at his eyes with two fingers.“Nothin else would move.My arms, my legs…”He makes another disgusted sound.“Whole thing lasted about a minute, I guess, but a minute was plenty.”He punctuates this last sentence with a mirthless laugh.

“Abou’ the same for me,” I say.“Lasted a minute, maybe.Thought I was…”

“Dyin’?” Scout offers.

I swallow.“Yeah.”

“I saw these weird cloudy-looking things in the, the uh…”He waves a hand through the air, and by now I’ve come to realize that’s what he does when he can’t think of the word he’s looking for.“…The sides of my eyes.Everything got all blotchy, I thought I was…honestly I thought I was seeing a bunch’a ghosts.”He flashes a sheepish smile at me.“I know that’s dumb, there’s obviously no such thing as—well there _might_ be ghosts, ‘cause I remember last Halloween when—“

I listen contentedly while he carries on about the supposed existence of ghosts, glad to be free of the subject of sleep paralysis.While he talks, I think back to what he said just a moment ago, about not taking the sleeping pills again.I’m not sure if I will, either.Is sleep paralysis worth the price of a good nights’ sleep?

Well.It wasn’t a _good_ nights’ sleep.My muscles feel quite a bit more rested than before I fell asleep, at least there’s that, but my entire head feels swollen and itchy, almost like an allergic reaction to something:scratchy eyes, stuffy nose, aching ears.And I can’t get those things out of my head, those shadowy blotches I saw at the edge of my vision.They disappeared as soon as the paralysis went away, but it’s almost like they were some sort of humanoid shape, some sort of presence.

My eyes widen in understanding.Scout saw “ghosts” when he first woke up, which are probably the same shadowy things I saw.I don’t know for sure, but I think hallucinations are another symptom of sleep paralysis, I think I’ve read that somewhere before. 

“What?” Scout says, derailing his own conversation about his grandmother’s _definitely haunted_ apartment.“Your eyes just got all big.You look like you just figured sum’n out.”

“I did,” I say, and then I explain to him about sleep paralysis and visual hallucinations. 

“That’d make a hell of a lot more sense than my ghost theory,” Scout says.“That was creepy as fuck, I dunno if—“

His stomach gurgles, his abdomen lurches.He claps a hand over his mouth and dashes through the door to the left of the room, the one I’ve always presumed to be the bathroom. 

I’m worried about him for all of half a second before my own stomach clenches. _Please don’t let me vomit in Scout’s floor_ , I think, _please don’t let me vomit on_ anything _in this room._

I scramble up from the floor and take off toward the bathroom.I’m staggering through the doorway before I realize that there’s only one toilet in there, of course there is, and it’s currently in use.

Briefly I think of running back to the kitchen to vomit in the garbage bin, but there isn’t time.There’s a bin in here, but it’s right by the toilet and I’d practically have to shove Scout out of the way to get to it.I settle for the only feasible option I’ve got, here—I stumble over to the bathtub and lean my head over.

 

****

 

“You can have these back,” Scout says, sliding both pill bottles across the break room table.

Medic looks up from his crossword, mouth slightly ajar.“Pardon?” he says.

Scout flops down in a chair next to Medic and I take a seat next to Scout.I don’t think my legs will support me much longer, they’re so wobbly. 

“Listen,” Scout says, “thanks for trying to help me—us—and all, but these pills don’t work.”

At that, Medic raises his brows.“You did not fall asleep after you took one?”

“I mean,” Scout says with a shrug, “if ya call passing out in the floor _sleeping_ , then yeah, we fell asleep.”

Medic looks unimpressed at Scout’s remark.Medic opens his mouth to say something, but—to my surprise—I cut into the conversation before he gets the chance to say anything.

“There’s also the bit about the…”I don’t want to say the word, in case I’m afraid I’m thinking of the wrong thing.“…the, er, sleep paralysis when I—when _we_ woke up this morning.”

Medic crooks a finger and taps it against his chin.“Fascinating,” he mutters.

Beneath the table, Scout clenches his fist, as though he’s barely managing to suppress his anger.He looks at me and says, “That ain’t really the word I’d use to describe it, how ‘bout you, Snipes?”

I crack a smile at the expression on Scout’s face, which looks like he’s just taken a bite of something particularly sour.“Not exactly,” I say.“Horrifying, maybe.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Scout says crossly.“How come you didn’t warn us about those pills, Doc?I was scared shitless when I woke up.I couldn’t move, I was seein’ all these weird shadowy things…and Snipes did the same thing, so it wasn’t just me.Little bit of warning woulda been nice.”

Medic peers through his tiny round spectacles, examining one of the labels on the pill bottles.He opens the bottle, shakes out a pill, and rolls it between his thumb and forefinger.

“I thought I might have given you the wrong medication by mistake,” Medic explains.“This is certainly the correct capsule.”

Heavy, who had been absorbed in the newspaper crossword up to this point, looks over at the pill pinched between Medic’s fingers.“That is looking like Heavy’s sleep medicine,” he says.

Medic checks one of the labels again, then appears to do some mental math, ticking things off on his fingers and mouthing wordlessly.“Ah,” he says, “I believe I see the problem here.”

“Lemme guess,” Scout says, a definite bitterness to his tone, “ya gave us Big Guy’s stuff and it’s strong enough to tranquilize a…a, uh…”He turns to me.“Help me out here, Snipes, what’s a really big animal?”

“Elephant?” 

“To tranquilize an elephant,” Scout continues, not missing a beat.

Now Medic’s looking a bit sheepish.“Well, I assure you I did not know that it would affect you two in such a way.It _is_ a…potent dose, but since you both were having such trouble with sleep, I thought it might allow you to rest.Heavy’s never had such problems, have you?”

Heavy shakes his head.“Heavy takes this pill, Heavy sleeps like little baby, Heavy wakes up in morning,” he says simply.

“It wasn’t just the weird sleep-whatever either,” Scout says.“Me and Snipes puked all over the place, too.It was pretty bad.”

“Yeah,” I say in agreement, though that’s not all I want to say.Scout and I were nearly late for work because we were mopping and scrubbing his bathroom clean.It was a fucking mess, so much so that I became numb to the embarrassment of the situation because Scout was going through the exact same thing.Tandem embarrassment.It was a new level of awkwardness for me.

Of course, I say none of this.“It was pretty bad” sums it up well enough.

“Fascinating,” Medic says again.I wish he’d stop saying that.“Sleep paralysis, severe nausea and vomiting.It’s certainly possible that the dosage is merely too strong.Then again…”He gets that soft sort of look in his eyes again.“Heavy’s immune system and tolerance levels are greater than any I’ve ever seen.”

Scout gives me a withering look.“We ain’t exactly built like Heavy, are we?”

“Not hardly,” I mutter back.

“I’m going to adjust the capsule’s dosage as well as a few of its components,” Medic says, dropping the pill back into the bottle and snapping the lid shut.“I should have it figured out in a few days’ time.In the meantime, I would suggest—“

“Don’t worry, Doc,” Scout interjects, “I got an idea.”He turns to me.“How ‘bout we—“

Before he can finish forming that sentence, the egg timer sitting in the middle of the table goes off.

“Back to work,” Medic says briskly, shutting off the egg timer.“Scout, don’t forget to clock back in from lunch.”

“I won’t,” Scout grumbles, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

As a group, we push away from the table and head toward the punch clock.While Scout and I are waiting for our turn, he says to me, “Would it be alright if I swung by your camper after work?I got an idea.”He must’ve seen the alarm in my eyes because he says quickly, “Never mind, just meet me in the training room at, uh, let’s say seven o’ clock.How’s that?”

“The what?” I say.I’ve honestly got no idea what he’s going on about.

“Oh yeah, I forgot you don’t go inside the base very much.”He grabs his punch card from a hanging folder bolted to the wall, sticks it in the punch clock slot. _P-p-p-ping!_ The machine spits his card back out at him.

“Y’know where Doc’s office is, right?” he asks me, tossing his card back into the hanging folder labeled _Scout._

“Course,” I say, taking my own card from the wall and placing it inside the punch clock. _P-p-p-ping!_

“Okay, go like you’re goin’ to Doc’s office, but go right past it.You’ll see a hallway there going left.Take that left, and then you’ll see these two big doors at the end of the hallway.Says ‘training room’ on ‘em and everything, you can’t miss it.”

“Alright,” I say.I put my card back into its slot.“Why?I mean, what—“

He interrupts me with a huge grin.“You’ll see,” he says.His smile falters a bit.“Shit, wait, I gotta spoil the surprise a little bit.Be sure and bring swim trunks.”

_Swim…?_

I raise my eyebrows.“There’s a swimming pool in there?”

We’re heading toward our lockers now, grabbing our weapons.Scout takes out his shotgun and rests the barrels against his shoulder, like one might a sleeping child.I take out my rifle and sling the strap across my back.

“I dunno,” Scout says, “you’ll just have to bring your swim trunks tonight and find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this, I didn't think it'd be this much of a slow burn, but it definitely is. Oh well!!  
> I have some big plans for the next chapter though, so maybe it won't burn so slowly after chapter 5


	5. Chapter 5

I never knew we had a training room, let alone a swimming pool.If I’d known that sooner, I’d have spent much more time inside the base.

When I was younger, Mum and Dad and I used to go to the beach nearly every weekend.It was a reward, they said, for getting good marks in school, though I think we’d have gone anyway even if my grades were bad.Dad wasn’t much of a swimmer, he preferred to bed down in the sand and read a book, but Mum loved the water.She was the one who taught me to swim, to surf.She always floated effortlessly on the water, and thanks to the extra padding round my middle, so do I. 

That’s the thing I find myself missing more and more about Australia—the beach.I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been swimming since I started working for Fortress.I crave that feeling of weightlessness that water brings.I don’t even mind if it’s not a natural body of water.A swimming pool will do just fine.

A bag, I need a bag.Something to put my swimming things in.I don’t want to carry it in my arms in case it raises too many questions—which, incidentally, is the key reason I don’t go into the base in the first place.Everyone you pass wants to stop and have a chat.Even Pyro tries to mumble at me through their mask.If I’ve got all my things in a bag, maybe no one will mention it.

I look around the camper for something to put it all in, finally deciding on a brown paper grocery sack.As I stuff my things into the bag, it occurs to me that lugging around an unmarked package might raise more questions than carrying it all in my hands, but I decide to take it anyway.Better to carry it in a paper sack than run the risk of Spy making snide comments about my togs.

I leave my belt, hat, and vest in the camper, since I reckon there’s no real point in taking them with me.For a moment I stand in front of the door, considering leaving my glasses behind as well.Could I see well enough to pick my way to the training room without them?Not likely.I leave them on.

I’ve got my hand on the door handle when I remember something.I turn around, go into the bathroom, and take a look at myself in the mirror.

“Ugh,” I say to my reflection, looking at the lines under my eyes, the jowly look my cheeks are getting these days, the five o’ clock shadow on my face.I’m looking more and more like Dad every day, which makes no sense, as we’re not really blood-related. 

I try to smooth down my hat hair with a comb.No good.I brush my teeth, just in case—

“Just in case _what_?” I say aloud, giving my reflection a disdainful look.Just in case Scout gets close enough to me to smell my breath?I doubt that will happen.And even if he did, I’d have far more to worry about than the state of my teeth.

A sudden lump forms in my throat.This isn’t a _date,_ is it?No, it can’t be.Scout told me to meet him in the training room, and the way he phrased it made it sound like he had an alternative to those strange sleeping pills we took.I took that to mean we were going to swim to the point of physical exhaustion, but what if I’m wrong?What if it _is_ a date?

No, no no no, that’s not how it works.Two people have to be in agreement on whether or not something constitutes as a date.One person can’t make that decision for both parties.And anyway, there’s no way Scout would be interested in me, not a chance.

_And yet_.

I wet the comb and slick my hair back, then shave my face faster than I’ve ever dared to shave it before.My hand hovers above the cologne bottle before I force it back down to my side.No, no cologne, that’s too much.Scout will know I’m trying.

In a way, don’t I want Scout to know I’m trying?

…No.No, I don’t.Not to mention the fact that I don’t want Spy to smell me coming before he even sees me. 

I’ve done all I can do.I head out of the bathroom, grab my paper sack, open the camper door, and step out into the early evening air.

 

****

 

I slide open the patio door that leads into the base’s kitchen and walk inside.Pyro’s in front of the stove with a wooden spatula in their hand, stirring away at something that smells like meat and cumin and garlic.It actually smells quite good, especially since Pyro’s known for their love of burning things.

When Pyro hears me slide the patio door shut, they turn around and mumble a greeting, waving at me with the wooden spatula.I tip my head in Pyro’s direction and hurry off before a real conversation has the chance to start. 

In the hallway, I see Medic struggling with a stack of paperwork so tall he’s got to tuck it under his chin to keep it steady.I’m able to skirt by him with a simple muttered hello.Now if I can just make it to the end of the hallway without anybody else seeing me, I’m golden.

Sure enough, just past Doc’s office is a hall that veers to the left, and at the end of that hall is a set of double doors marked “TRAINING HALL.”I can’t believe I’ve never noticed this place before.For a moment I just stand there, trying to work up the nerve to walk in.What if there are others in there, others beside Scout?It’s bad enough that I’m putting on a swimming costume in front of Scout; I’m not wearing it if there’s anyone else in there, I’ve already decided that.This is a stupid idea altogether, I shouldn’t have come.

I push the door open and walk inside. 

The sight of the room is enough to make me take a sharp breath of air through my nostrils.I’m in awe at how big the room is.Taking up half the space is a pool so large, I wonder if it’s Olympic-sized.It’s got a diving board and everything.The back half of the room is dedicated to a jogging track, exercise equipment, and weightlifting things.Along part of the back wall is a row of thick foam targets for archery practice.

I look around to see if I can spot Scout.I see him take off from the jogging track, running his way toward me.The closer he gets, the clearer his outline becomes, till I can see he’s wearing nothing more than a set of swim trunks.As he runs along the pool, I think to myself that it’s not a very good idea to be running where there’s so much water—

—and then he slips, crashing down to the concrete floor with a wet slap.A noise that sounds more surprised than pained comes out of his mouth.

“Shit,” I say, hurrying over to his side.I hold out my free hand and he takes it, and together we pull him up out of the puddle he’s just slipped in. 

“Aw man, that was embarrassing,” he says, grinning. 

“You alright?” I ask him.

“Yeah, I’m fine—“

Something catches my eye and I can’t help but look downward.In the middle of Scout’s chest is a tattoo, a purplish circle with the bust of a grinning man inside it.Beneath the circle is a scroll-type banner with the words SEX BOM written in fancy lettering.

“Don’t look at my tattoo,” Scout says, his grin widening and his face growing red.He briefly claps a hand over SEX BOM, hiding him from view, then drops his hand back to his side.

“I’ll try not to,” I assure him, all the while trying to sneak a glance at it in my peripheral vision.

“You going swimmin’ in your boots?” Scout asks, casting his eyes down to my feet.

“Nah.I’ve got my, er…swimming things in here.”I hold up the paper bag.

“There’s a changing room back there,” Scout says, pointing to a door behind the exercise equipment.

“Right,” I say.“Be back in a bit.”

 

****

 

If Scout thinks it odd that I’m wearing a tee shirt into the pool, he doesn’t say anything.Even if I didn’t have all this scarring across my torso, I would’ve worn a shirt anyway to cover up my doughy midsection. 

Scout opts to cannonball in, while I decide to ease my way down the steps.As soon as my feet are covered with water, I get a rush of familiarity, of nostalgia.I sink down into the pool and breaststroke toward the outer edge, in the mind to do a few laps.

“Check you out!” Scout yells, “You’re so good!” 

I stop my laps and tread water for a bit, watching as he flails his arms and legs about, trying to stay afloat.He’s not _not_ swimming, I guess, but his technique…could use some work.

I swim out to him, trying to make my strokes as precise and graceful as possible.Distantly, I realize I’m trying to impress him, as if decent swimming could impress anyone.

“You can move your arms like this when you’re staying still,” I tell him, trying to demonstrate for him.“And it’s easier.”

“Like this?” Scout asks, stopping his flailing and giving it a proper effort.

Looks much better.“Yeah.”

“I don’t really swim,” he says.He dog-paddles out a ways, then dog-paddles back to me.“When I was a kid I was all focused on baseball, so I didn’t really do it a lot.”

“I used to swim all the time,” I say.“In the ocean, mainly.”

“In the ocean?” Scout says excitedly.“Have ya ever seen a shark?”

I fight back a smile.“Loads of them.”

Okay, maybe not loads.Maybe six or seven.Still, that’s more sharks than the average person’s seen, I imagine.

“I went to the beach a few times,” Scout muses.“My brother Anthony took me during summer vacation.This one time when I was seven, I got stung by a jellyfish and my brother Randy had to piss on my leg.”He laughs.“Think my brother Tommy took a picture of it that day.”

“You have a lot of brothers,” I say.

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “I got seven older brothers, man.I’m the youngest.”

“Wow,” I say, raising my brows at him.“You’ve got a big family.”

“Huge,” Scout agrees.“You got any brothers or sisters, Snipes?”

I shake my head.“Nah.I’m an only child.”

Scout makes a sound of disappointment.“That kinda sucks,” he says, “but I gotta wonder what it’d be like, y’know?I woulda had my own bedroom, my own clothes that nobody’d already wore a million times, my Ma wouldn’t have had to work so much…”He paddles backward, floating on his back.“Then again, my brothers’ve saved my ass more times than I can count.I guess they were okay to have around most of the time.”

I’ve often wondered what it would be like to have a large family.I had Mum ’n’ Dad, my aunt and uncle, and two rotten cousins named Moira and Fran.That’s all.No large holiday gatherings, no birthdays, very few get-togethers.I’m sure I would have preferred it to be that way, since I like my privacy so much, though I’ve always wanted to know what having a sibling would be like.Can’t believe Scout has _seven_ of them.

I say none of this aloud.Something tells me it wouldn’t make for very good conversation.

“Yeah,” I say, stupidly.

Scout climbs out the side of the pool and cannonballs back in.I resume my laps.We carry on in this way for a good half-hour before the silence is broken again.

“Was this your plan?” I ask him, getting breathless from all the exercise.“To forget about the pills ’n’ exercise until we get tired?

“Uh-huh,” Scout says.“Pretty much.You gettin’ tired yet?”

“Tired, yeah,” I say, wiping the water from my eyes.“Dunno about sleepy, though.”

“Same here,” Scout says, frowning.“Well, how ‘bout we keep trying for a little while longer?Get real tired and _then_ try to go to bed.”

“May as well,” I say, shrugging.

Another half-hour passes with Scout swimming alongside me, trying to mimic my breaststroke.I’d never stand a chance outrunning him on land, but I’m faster than him in the water.I think it’s his runner’s thighs weighing him down.

Red-faced and with his hair plastered to his skull, Scout swims to the edge of the pool and hops out.He extends a hand and I take it with uncertainty, doubting he can heave me up.We manage it, though, and I clamber out of the pool with my tee shirt clinging to me like a second skin.

When we get to our feet, Scout curses under his breath.

“What’s the matter?”  


“I forgot to bring a towel,” he says.“Guess I’m walking back to my room soaking wet.”

I nearly offer him my towel, but that would just be strange.And anyway, his room’s only a few steps down the hall.I reckon he’ll be alright.

“Did you remember to bring one?” he asks me.

“Yeah.I left it back in the, er…”I jab a thumb over my shoulder.“…In the changing room there.”

He nods, and a beat of silence passes between us.Then he says, “Feelin’ sleepy yet?”

“No,” I admit.“Tired.Not sleepy.”

“Same here,” he nods.“Well, you uh…nah, nevermind.”

“What?”

“Well, it’s just—I was gonna say we could go back to my room and watch TV or sum’n, but we already tried that a couple nights ago, I guess.”

“We could go to me camper,” I blurt.

As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I wish I could take it back.Why, _why_ did I say that?There’s nothing to do in my camper.I’ve got a TV hooked up at the moment, sure, but that’s about all.Unless Scout fancies reading strange books or listening to strange music, that is.And how long’s it been since I’ve tidied up in there?Have I got laundry in the floor that I’ve forgotten about?

“For real?” Scout says, absolutely beaming at me.“Yeah, we could do that.I’ll go get changed and meet you over there.”

I know I say something to him because I feel my mouth moving, though I’m not aware of the actual words leaving my mouth.He grins at me again, then turns on his heel and strides away from me, leaving a trail of little puddles in his wake.

What have I done, _what have I done_?Some subconscious part of my brain must’ve wanted Scout to come over to my camper, but—

Piss. _Piss_.What if he thinks—

Surely he would’ve said no if he thought I meant—

He certainly can’t be interested in me in _that_ sort of way—

But what if he _does_ think—

Am I overthinking this?I’m overthinking this.We’re just two mates, hanging out.What do mates do when they hang out?Doesn’t watching TV get a bit old?I don’t know.

I turn around so fast, I slip and nearly fall in the water that’s pooled around my feet.I fling my arms out and regain my balance, then head off for the changing room.I need to get dressed, beat Scout back to my camper, tidy up, think of something to do, think of a reason I invited him over…fuck, what’ve I gotten myself into. 

 

I can feel heat rising in my face.Sometimes I wish I could kick my own arse, I really do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only knowledge of Australian slang I have is from the internet and some podcasts/audiobooks I've listened to so if it's not right or sounds dumb, please forgive me
> 
> Also I haven't had the time to go through the TF2 tag on here to read any new fics in.....a really long time. If you've written something and you're wondering why I haven't read/commented on it, I just haven't read anything lately and I'm sorry about that ):


	6. Chapter 6

I see a shadowy shape waiting for me at the door to my camper.Shit.Scout beat me here, even though I left the training room as quickly as I could.I fish my keys out of my pocket and hurry toward the door to let him in.

“There you are, Sniper,” says a voice, a voice that certainly does not belong to Scout.I feel a pang of dread in my gut.

“Miss Pauling,” I say. _What are you doing here?_ I want to ask, but I don’t.She’ll explain her presence all in good time, like she always does.“Sorry, I was…out.”

“You’re usually _in_ when I come to see you,” she says as I unlock the door, and I can hear the smile in her tone.“Where’ve you been?”

I lean into the camper, click on the light, and usher her inside.“After you,” I say, in lieu of a proper answer to her question.

When she skirts past me, I hear her take a deep inhale.“You smell like chlorine,” she says, her rubber-soled mary-janes squeaking against the stairs.

“Been swimming,” I say as I climb in after her, clicking the door shut behind me.

A visit from Miss Pauling is a double-edged sword.She’s a nice and likable person, but she never brings any good news.When Miss Pauling comes to see you, she’s either got a new job assignment for you or she’s got complaints from the Administrator to pass along.Given my job performance these past few weeks, I’m betting on the latter.

“I won’t take long,” she says, taking a seat on the couch.“I just have a few things to talk to you about, real quick.”

In the grand scheme of things, none of what is happening is a big deal.I know this.But right now, in the present moment, it’s incredibly stressful.Miss Pauling is sitting on my couch and Scout will be here any minute.I wanted to beat Scout here so I could tidy the place up and think of, of _some_ thing for us to occupy our time with, and now I can’t do that.Not to mention Miss Pauling will want to know why Scout’s meeting me at my camper so late at night.No idea how I’m going to explain that one.

And of course, everybody knows Scout has a bit of a _thing_ for Miss Pauling.If they’re ever in a room together, he can’t quit flirting with her—not exactly something I want happening under my camper’s roof, if I’m being honest.

“Right,” I say, scratching absently at the side of my face.I’m surprised that the skin there is smooth, till I remember I just shaved a couple hours ago.“Er, before this gets weird, I should mention—“

Three raps on the camper door.

Piss.

A devilish grin spreads across Miss Pauling’s face.“Expecting company?” she says suggestively.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant about the whole thing.“Should be Scout, he said he’d drop by for a bit.’S alright if I let him in, innit?”

“As a matter of fact, I was going to talk to Scout after I talked to you,” she says.“If you don’t mind him hearing your personal business, I don’t mind to talk to both of you at once.”

Both of us at once.It would make sense, then, that we’re both about to get slaps on the wrist for doing so poorly at work.I don’t mind if Scout hears any of that.

So I turn away from Miss Pauling and open up the camper door.Scout stands in the doorway, his arms piled high with shallow little boxes. 

“Brought some board games,” he chimes, climbing up the stairs.“Got Scrabble, got Clue, Connect F—hey, Miss P!”

He drops the board games onto the kitchen table and takes a seat next to Miss Pauling on the couch.He sits too close to her, their knees almost touching.“What’re you doing here?”

Miss Pauling gives his arm a shove and scoots further away from him on the couch.“Didn’t you know?” she says.“Sniper and I are…well, how could I put this without hurting your feelings?We’re kind of…dating.”

Instead of looking shocked like I expected him to, Scout gives Miss Pauling a withering look.“Bet your girlfriend would love to hear about that.”

“How many times do I have to tell you she’s not my girlfriend?” Miss Pauling says.“She’s a girl and she’s a friend.And we go on dates sometimes.But she’s _not_ my girlfriend.”

“Sounds like a girlfriend to me, but what do I know?” Scout says, giving her an exaggerated shrug.“Me ’n’ Snipes are gonna play board games till we pass out, wanna join us?”

“Uh, pass,” Miss Pauling says.“I’ve got a mountain of paperwork to do tonight.I just need to talk to both of you about a few things, then I’ll get out of your hair.”

I take this as my cue to sit down.I join Scout on the couch, not daring to sit as close to him as he did to Miss Pauling, angling my body toward the two of them.

“Both of us?” Scout asks.“What’d we do?”At his own words, realization flickers across his face.“Oh, I think I know.”

Miss Pauling nods, as if some silent form of understanding passes between the two of them.“This month, your and Sniper’s performance records are down.And not just a little bit, either.I mean, compared to last month…”She makes a downward slashing motion with her hand.“You’ve both been doing pretty horribly this month and I’ve come to find out why.”

Well, if she wants to know the reason behind our bad performance as of late, the answer to that is simple enough.

“Me ’n’ Snipes can’t get to sleep at night,” Scout explains, “and when we go to work we’re just so freakin’ tired.”

“You can’t sleep?” Miss Pauling asks.“Have you told Medic about this?”

Scout explains the tale about Doc giving us those horrid sleeping pills, how they caused us to have sleep paralysis and made us deathly ill. 

“Said he’s working on a different pill for us,” I tell her.“I’m not so sure if I’ll be trying it out, though.”

“Maybe Medic isn’t the way to go with this,” Miss Pauling says.“I’m assuming you’ve tried over-the-counter sleeping pills?”

Scout and I _yep_ and _uh-huh_ in unison.

“And tonight we tried going to the training room and swimming,” Scout says.“Thought we might, y’know, get so exhausted we’d fall asleep.”

“And that didn’t work out, I take it?” Miss Pauling asks.

“We’re still awake, ain’t we?” Scout says sadly, his shoulders slumping.“I couldn’t think of anything else to try, so I brought over these board games.”There’s a definite note of defeat in his tone.“Least we’ll have sum’n to do till we get sleepy.”

Nodding, Miss Pauling asks us a few more questions about our sleeping habits—how long this has been going on, how often we can’t sleep, how exactly it affects our work—and jots down some notes on her ever-present clipboard. 

“The Administrator will be happy to hear about this,” she says.

“Happy?” I say.I’d reckon the Administrator would be the _opposite_ of relieved to find that two of her employees are suffering from insomnia. 

“Yes,” Miss Pauling says, capping her ink pen and jabbing it into the knot of her messy bun.“A sudden drop in employee productivity can mean a number of different things.The Administrator sent me out here to make sure you two weren’t thinking about quitting.”

“Nah,” I tell her, almost wishing it were that simple. 

“Can’t get a good night’s sleep, that’s all,” Scout says.

Miss Pauling stands up, tucking her clipboard under her arm.“I’ll have a word with Medic, see if he’s got any plans for your future treatment options,” she says.She makes her way over to the camper door, opens it.“And I’ll talk to the Administrator about you two.Maybe she’ll be understanding of your…situation.”

“What if she _ain’t_ so understanding of our ‘situation’?” Scout asks.

Miss Pauling’s expression darkens.“I’ll talk to her,” she says cryptically.“Good night, guys.” 

The camper door clicks shut behind her.I get up and lock the door.

“Well, I didn’t like that at all,” Scout says.“Guess we’re officially in trouble now, huh?”

“Apparently we’re doing so bad that the Administrator finally took notice,” I grumble as I slouch into the kitchen.I open up the fridge and peer inside. 

“Wanna drink?” I ask, rattling off the contents of the fridge, which consists of just about everything.I hate shopping, see.When I go, I stock up, and since I never know what I’ll be in the mood for, I grab a bit of everything.For once my anxiety’s working in my favor; I’ve got plenty of refreshments to offer my unexpected camperguest. 

“Guess I shouldn’t drink caffeine this late at night,” Scout grumbles.“Gimme a bottle of water.If it ain’t any trouble,” he adds quickly.

He’s got a point about the caffeine, I suppose.I grab two bottles of water and head back to the couch, handing one to Scout.

“Thanks,” he mutters.

“Mm,” I mutter back.

 

****

 

We decide on playing Scrabble, since Scout insisted he didn’t care what we played.Loner that I am, I’ve got very little experience with board games, though I think I might have a chance at being good at Scrabble.From looking at the box, I gather that the main point of it is to draw random letters from a bag and take turns spelling out words on the game board.Easy enough.

On Scout’s turn, he plunks down three letters, using my letter E (from the ‘BONE’ I spelled out last round) to branch out from. 

I wonder if I should tell him.No, I should just let it go, like I let him spell ‘RYCE’ without saying anything.The point of the game (all games, really) is to have fun, not to get nitpicky about rules.Right?

“Mate, that ain’t a word,” I blurt, pointing to the letters he just laid down.

“What’re ya talkin’ about?” Scout says, “‘course it’s a word! It’s a color, it’s pink!Y’know, the pig is pink, the…the whatever is pink!”

I purse my lips together, trying to keep from laughing.I know it isn’t funny, I know Scout has trouble with words and letters and he’s trying his best, but still.“That ain’t how you spell pink,” I say.“You’ve got P-E-N-K there.”

Scout’s face flushes and a sheepish smile erupts on his face—the expression of someone who’s been embarrassed, but who’s taking it in stride.“If you’re so smart, how do _you_ spell pink?” he asks.

“P- _I_ -N-K,” I say, again trying hard not to smile.“There’s no E in it.”

“I think you’re wrong, but okay,” Scout grumbles, removing his K tile from the board.“There, now it’s _pen_.And you’re not gonna tell me I spelled _pen_ wrong, ‘cause I know that’s right.”

“That’s a much better word than _penk_.”

He grins.“Fuck you, man.Let’s see you spell a better word than _penk_ , then.”

 

****

 

Once the Scrabble tiles began to dwindle from the draw pile, the game grew irritating for the both of us since we couldn’t spell anything with our X’s and QU’s.We agreed to call it quits mid-game and Scout declared I won, since I had more points than he did. 

Then we moved on to Connect Four, which was surprisingly fun.On Scout’s third win in a row, he lets out a long yawn. 

“What time is it, anyway?” he asks.

I check my watch.“Just past midnight.”

Tomorrow’s a Saturday, so it doesn’t really matter what time I head to bed.Still, I feel like I should try to get to sleep before the clock rolls over to 1 AM.I begin contemplating how to politely hint for Scout to leave. 

“Sleepy yet?” I ask him.

He chews at a fingernail.“Maybe a little bit,” he says doubtfully.He cuts his eyes at me, looking like he wants to say something, though it’s not like him to hold back his words.

“You alright?” I ask him.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “I just uh…wanted to ask you sum’n.”He comes to the realization of what he’s doing and yanks his hand away from his mouth, slapping it into his lap.“It ain’t a big deal if you say no, I just thought I’d ask.”

“Ask me what?”

He cuts his eyes over at me again and he begins to work his jaws up and down, once again chewing something.I don’t know if he’s got gum, or if he’s gnawing at the side of his cheek. 

“I think I might know part of the reason I’m not sleeping so good,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.See, I was thinking about it, and I always slept like a fuckin rock back home.Even with all that city noise and my brothers running around all hours of the night and everything.So awhile back, I got the idea that I might be missing the _noise_ , so I started sleeping with my door open—y’know, so I could hear everybody in the base going up and down the hallway.”

“Help any?”

“Nah.”He rolls a yellow Connect Four chip between his thumb and forefinger.“But there was another thing I thought of.All my life, I never had my own room.I always had to share it.So I got the idea that maybe I just…y’know what, never mind, it’s stupid.”

“No, go on.”

He hesitates, then says, “I was thinkin’ maybe I just need somebody to share a room with.”

Finally my brain puts two and two together.I must be showing some kind of alarm on my face because Scout is quick to shoot me a placating grin. 

“Not like, share a room _all_ the time,” he assures me, “it’ll just be at night.You never know, it might help _you_ out, too.”

My instant response, as it is to anything that gets me out of my immediate comfort zone, is a flat _no_.Thankfully I’m able to resist saying that aloud just yet.

_Come on_ , I tell myself, _really think about it before you tell him no_.

“Only at night, eh?” I ask him.

“Yeah,” he says, and with that single word, I can hear the excitement growing in his voice.“I know you like your privacy and stuff, so it’d just be at night, I swear.And I’m sure you wouldn’t wanna stay in my room, for a whole buncha reasons, so I could just camp out in here.”

He looks around the room, as if appraising the place.“I could sleep on the couch over there.Hell, I’ll sleep on the floor if ya want me to.”

“The couch folds out into a bed, actually,” I say, knowing full-well that I’ve just inadvertently invited him to stay the night.

“Even better,” he says.He looks truly enthused at the prospect of a sleeper sofa.“Hey, how’s this, we’ll give it a try for one night.And if it don’t work out, we forget about it.We tried every other way to get to sleep, might as well try sum’n else, right?”

The antisocial gremlin that lives within me is still screaming for me to tell him no.How am I supposed to sleep if I know somebody else is in my camper?What if Scout wants to get up and stab me in the middle of the night?

Say he does stab me in the middle of the night, which I highly doubt he’d do.A quick trip to respawn and I’ll be fine. 

What if he talks my ear off all night long?I reckon I’m not sleeping as it is, so someone to keep me company might not be so bad.

What if it turns out that he’s got some really annoying habits I just can’t stand, what if he grinds his teeth in his sleep or something?Well, think of this as an opportunity to sharpen my patience.I’m already a very patient man, but there’s always room for improvement.

“We could give it a go,” I say slowly.Like he said a second ago, we’ve tried other ways to get our stupid arses to sleep.May as well try something different.Still, my heart thrums in my chest like I’ve just made a terrible mistake.

“Seriously?” Scout says, beaming.He drops the Connect Four piece onto the table and stands up.“I’m gonna go grab a couple things from my room.”

I barely have time to say “okay” before he’s down the steps and out the door.I can tell by the way the door half-clicks that he didn’t shut it properly.Oh well.

 

****

 

While Scout’s gone, I toss the cushions off the couch and pull out the hideaway bed.The mattress, I’m glad to find, is the same size as the one up in my bunk, meaning I’ve got the proper size sheets to go on it.I grab some bedsheets from a nearby drawer and make it up.

I’ve never had the need to use this bed before.I’m not sure how comfortable it’s going to be.It’s brand new, so it’s not worn out or anything, but it looks a little on the thin side.If it’s no good, I reckon Scout could just sleep on the couch itself. 

I’m hunting about for a pillow—there’s a spare one here somewhere, I know there is—when Scout climbs back into the camper, his arms laden down with pillows, blankets, clothes.He dumps it all into an unceremonious heap on the floor.

“I’m back,” he announces, wasting no time in kicking his shoes off.

“You sure you brought everything?” I ask, eyeing the gigantic pile of stuff he’s brought.

“I didn’t know if you’d have pillows and stuff over here,” he retorts.“And I gotta have my pajamas.”

He begins to disrobe, undoing his belt and letting his trousers pool around his ankles.As he kicks them the rest of the way off, he pulls off his shirt and tosses it into his pile of stuff.I suppose he’s not worried about privacy.Then again, he did grow up in a house with seven siblings; privacy probably wasn’t much of an option for him.I try not to look directly at him.

“I put sheets on the bed,” I say, trying to ease the tension in the room—tension I’m only imagining, as Scout doesn’t seem bothered at all.He bends, pawing through his pile of stuff until he finds an old jersey and a pair of pajama bottoms.I stare hard at the wall beyond Scout’s head.“Hope it’s, er…comfortable enough to sleep on.I’ve never used it, meself.”

“Looks good to me,” Scout says.He pulls on his pajamas and starts throwing things atop the bed—first one pillow, then another, and then a rather colorful blanket printed with images of toucan birds and tropical leaves. 

“My niece got me that blanket for Christmas last year,” he says.“Kinda got some charm, don’t it?”

“It does,” I agree.“I like it.”

He pulls back the blanket and dives into the bed, putting one of the pillows into a chokehold. 

“How is it?” I ask him.

“I think it’s gonna be great,” he says, letting loose of the pillow and flopping over onto his back.“I definitely slept on worse than this before, I promise.”

“Good,” I say with a nod.I jab an awkward thumb over my shoulder, pointing toward the bathroom.“I’ll just…I’m getting ready for bed.Yell if you need anything.”

“Will do,” he says, wasting no time in burrowing himself under his blanket. 

I head into the bathroom to clean my teeth, wondering whether I’ve just made a very good decision or a horrendous mistake. 

_What’s the worst that could happen?_ I ask myself, watching as my reflection sticks the toothbrush into its mouth.

I’m sure I’ll have an answer to that question before the night’s over with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is the slowest of slow burns but it's going to get more interesting soon


End file.
